


Mark - Sheppard Of The Tambourine

by Alice_huhhuhhhu, Shaleschnueffler



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Actors, Awkwardness, Concerts, Conventions, Crack, Drums, Drunkenness, Fanart, Friendship/Love, I Ship It, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I had some alcohol before I wrote this, I'm Going to Hell, Inspired by..., Mark Sheppard loves a tambourine, Musical Instruments, Musicians, Not My Fault, Oh My God, Other, Out of Character, Please Kill Me, Regret, Supernatural Convention, Truth or Dare, Unrequited Love, Weird Plot Shit, Weirdness, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, he betrayed his tambourine, it was late, misha being misha, okay im done here, tambourine, the struggles of a drummer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 13:20:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17529488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_huhhuhhhu/pseuds/Alice_huhhuhhhu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaleschnueffler/pseuds/Shaleschnueffler
Summary: A dare leads to Mark not being allowed to play the tambourine at a convention, and things spiral out of control. (Or at least they DID when I started writing this)"so im writing this storyAnd it's aboutMark Sheppard, drunk, playing Truth or Dare with other people, drunk, and Misha Collins is there, drunk.And Mark's dare is toNOT PLAY THE TAMBOURINE AT THE NEXT CONand then marks like "oh shit no i cant do that"BUT HE HAS TO!"A+ crack material; I don't know what was going on in my head when I wrote this, and I blame you, Alicia.





	Mark - Sheppard Of The Tambourine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alice_huhhuhhhu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_huhhuhhhu/gifts).



> Welcome to this...thing.  
> In case you haven't noticed yet, this is pure crack.  
> Mark Sheppard/tambourine.  
> listen to this, thank you.: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYF8Y47qZQY
> 
> I added my dear friend as a co-creator because she basically inspired this fanfiction (I'm still not sure if I should say bless you or screw you for that) AND she's the artist that created the masterpiece below. However, I also decided to dedicate this to her since she came up with the idea and all - consider it an AO3 welcome!

\- "Mark!", a loud voice startled him out of his thoughts, and he turned to look at the man who had shouted his name. "Truth! Or daaare?", the person Mark identified as Misha drawled, his cheeks red from having laughed too much and, mostly, because of the alcohol they had already consumed by now although it was barely one in the morning.  
  
The actor didn't even quite realize what he'd been asked exactly, and so he settled for a drawn-out "I don't care!" that had multiple people throw their head back in barking and very contagious laughter. Once most of them had managed to calm down again, Misha declared - or slurred, rather - that a dare would be it then, and Mark just shrugged before he laughed again; his own gesture seemed oddly funny to him. Maybe they'd had enough alcohol by now. He downed the shot that Matt handed him, without thinking twice.  
  
\- "I dare you!", Misha practically squealed, leaning forward until he almost toppled over, unable to hold his balance as he downright _giggled_ before he managed to pull himself together again, "To _not_ play the tambourine at our next con!" Irritated huffs and some wheezes filled the room at Misha's assignment. "Unless you wanna take the _ultra-dare!_ ", he added swiftly before Mark could even grasp the meaning of the actor's words, to which Rich responded with a confused and slightly slurred "We have an ultra-dare?" that Misha brushed off with a vague wave of his hand.  
  
Mark sat dumbfounded for a couple of moments, his brain still needing some time to catch up with everything that had happened in the last few seconds but once he was sure that he'd gathered all the information he needed to make a final decision, he nodded, determined.  
  
\- "Alright!", he declared before he turned to Osric - the poor boy looked like he was going to throw up any minute, but honestly, Mark was too drunk to even realize. And he was pretty sure that, even if he _had_ noticed the look of distress on Osric's heavily made-up face, he probably wouldn't have cared as he wasn't exactly one to show a lot of mercy in situations like these -; ready to assault him with another childish truth or dare. Naturally, he made sure to accept the new shot glass Cohen was holding out to him first.  
  
  
  
  
The morning after hadn't been as bad as he'd expected it to be. The same went for the following days, weeks, months. Although he'd still remembered Misha's dare on the next day, it hadn't taken long for him to push it to the back of his mind and completely forget about it a week after their weird, spontaneous drunken night; and if the state that his friends had been in was anything to go by, at least ninety percent of the people present here must've forgotten about it by now as well - ' _now_ ' being 3:40 pm. And ' _here_ ' being on the few steps leading up to the stage that the band, Rich, Misha, and a few staff people were already occupying, taking turns at entertaining and speaking to the buzzing audience while they were waiting for everyone to finally get there.  
  
If Mark remembered the schedule right, he was the last person to arrive, and when the loud cheering of the fans threatened to make him go deaf, he raised his hand in a silent greeting before he immediately dove for the tambourine in order not to delay their small performance even more. He was a drummer, yes, but after he'd been assigned the tambourine so many times during conventions, he'd grown used to it - and he'd started to love the jingly thingy. Playing it was simple, easy; and yet, it was so much fun. Like a single jingle miniature drum. And he could actually move around while playing it!  
  
Noticing that the screams and the frantic applause began to slowly calm down, he tapped his finger against the instrument, waiting for the drummer to count in, but the familiar clacking sound of the drumsticks never came. Irritated, he cast Stephen a questioning glance, only to see him talk to Misha who had his mic turned off. And as if the understanding nod that the drummer gave before he got up from his stool wasn't enough already, Misha began to grin as he moved something around and fiddled with his microphone for a second.  
  
The loud, high frequency, whistle-like noise that rang out when the actor managed to turn on his mic again, had the whole room wincing, and Mark almost dropped his tambourine.  
  
\- "That may sound childish to you all!", Misha said loudly in his typical ' _This is very important, so be quiet and listen, you unworthy citizens_ ' voice, pointing at the crowd, "But Mark over here got a dare from me a loooong time ago, and right now, right here, the time has finally come!"  
  
All of a sudden, everything came back to him. And it was childish, indeed.  
  
Silently, he groaned. _Of course_ , Misha, _Misha Collins of all people_ , impersonated the ten percent that still remembered.  
  
\- "Mark, I order you to..." - Stephen was awkwardly leaning over the drums to carry out a semi-successful drum roll "Put the tambourine aside!"  
  
And if the men's childlike enthusiasm hadn't been enough to make Mark bury his face in his own hands already, then the staged gasps from the band would've definitely been. Luckily, the actor couldn't see the way Rich theatrically placed a hand on his heart in feigned shock.  
  
He let his hands drop with a sigh and a shake of his head as he met Misha's gaze. The man seemed insanely pleased with his announcement.  
  
Trying - and failing - to hold back the grin tugging at his lips, he shook his head at his friend before he turned to the audience. "Unbelievable!", he stage-whispered, subtly nodding towards his co-actor, drawing laughter from both Misha and the fans. Resigning, he handed the tambourine over to Stephen who accepted it with a smirk, and then made his way past Rob, almost tripping over the many cables in the process, until, he'd finally taken a seat behind the very familiar drum set.  
  
He took it in, the feeling. It had been so long since he'd had his fingers on a pair of drumsticks, his foot on a pedal; he couldn't even remember the last time he hadn't held a tambourine in his hands on a stage like this. He raised his hands above his head, let the sticks clash once, twice, three, four times, and the band was quick to come in once he'd finished counting in - they were professionals after all. Mark hit the drums carefully, tapping his foot in the relatively slow rhythm of the opener, following the song's flow as Rob leaned forward and raised his voice, basically necking the microphone.  
  
More than once, he found himself longingly looking over at the tambourine in Stephen's hands, although he tried his hardest not to. The drumsticks in his hands felt familiar, they felt like home, and yet, he could feel the nagging doubts in his chest. Maybe he simply wasn't meant to be a drummer? Maybe the tambourine had always been his destiny, his purpose? He didn't know. But he wanted to hold it in his hands again. Singly jingly was what he wanted to be. He wanted to preen himself on the tambourine. Implement the instrument. Mingle with the jingle.  
  
Mark cringed when he hit the wrong drum by accident and Stephen cast him an amused glance. The guy probably thought that the actor was simply out of practice - which he was, kind of, but the things that he did wrong, the parts that he screwed up; there was no way he would've normally made mistakes like these. He was distracted, and someone in the audience seemed to notice, because as soon as Rob played the last note and sang the last words, a scream of "Mark, play the tambourine!" reached his ears. He should've expected this - the fans loved joking about him playing the tambourine.  
  
Not sure if the girl had asked him to get back to the instrument because he'd performed _horribly_ or because she'd noticed his uncomfortable shifting around and his stares at the tambourine, he raised an eyebrow and looked around.  
  
Misha was standing close to the crowd, frowning while fondling his non-existent beard with his left hand. With a questioning look, he turned to cast Mark a glance instead, who, in turn, shrugged his shoulders in an ' _I don't care, do whatever you want_ ' kind of way. Hoping that the look on his face wasn't betraying him, he locked eyes with Misha who seemed to be contemplating the fan's request.  
  
\- "They're right, you did _terribly_ ", the actor spoke directly into the mic, grinning when the audience was once again shaken up by soft laughter. "I didn't think you'd actually screw up when I dared you back then. I don't even get how you _managed_ to fuck up that badly, actually. But I don't think we can keep this up any longer, for everyone's sake. Sorry, everyone, Mark is an untalented ape."  
  
\- "I haven't played in months! You try to do this and we'll talk!", Mark gave back with a grin, but put the sticks down nonetheless. "But okay! I will surrender", he said, dramatically raising his hands in defeat as he got up from the stool to get back to his former position. "The tambourine needs me and I need the tambourine!".  
  
When Stephen handed him the instrument and moved back to the drum set, Mark finally felt at peace again. He gave the tambourine a light pat, enjoying the soft sound that rang out. He smiled. Playing the tambourine made him feel something he had never felt before - he hadn't noticed, at first, but how did they say? You only know you love it when you let it go. And letting it go was a thing he didn't want to do, ever again. The drums had had their chance, and they'd forfeited it. The tambourine was his thing now. His _passion_ , his _source of strength and composure_. And although he felt a slight uneasiness at the thought; he knew that _it was what it was_ ; that _things changed_ , and that he couldn't change that - and if he was being honest, he didn't even want to change that, anyway.  
  
Stephen started to count in again, and Mark found that he didn't even have to concentrate, because his hands moved the tambourine in perfect motions all by themselves as he closed his eyes and nodded along with the rhythm.  
  
The performance went incredibly well. The crowd was cheering and singing along. He and his friends were joking and laughing until staff had to practically pull them off the stage when they overran their originally scheduled time slot.  
  
Everything had been more than just perfect.  
  
But it was later, way later that day, when he realized something, that was going to change his life forever.  
  
It wasn't when he listened to stories of his fans during the autograph session.  
  
It wasn't when they sat down in the green room after their concert, talked and laughed, and messed around.  
  
It wasn't when everyone said goodbye for the night and left to get some sleep.  
  
It wasn't when he had another light talk with Rob after everyone had already retreated to their room, no.  
  
It was when he was laying in bed; recapitulating everything he'd gone through in the past few hours. It was when he wrapped the warm blanket around himself, and a soft, wonderful jingling sound reached his ears. It was when he closed his eyes, and the only thing he saw wasn't pure and utter darkness, or dancing colors, but a _golden, shining, beautiful timbrel_.  
  
It was then that he finally realized.  
  
He was in love with a tambourine.

 

 


End file.
